When Love Goes Bad
by torchwoodmoreliketorture
Summary: Literally what the title says... *Warning* Disturbing, don't read if you're the type to get fidgety at the mention of blood. The paragraphing wouldn't work, sorry if it's hard to read.


**This is dedicated to my best friends (_YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE_). **

** Because. That's why.**  
**-Lizzie**

* * *

"Oh Max," Fang said, never losing that infuriating smirk.  
He took a step forward, towards me.  
"Fang," I mimicked, taking a step towards him.  
"You never did, did you?" He asked, his calm facade threatening to break.  
"You never know," I said almost flirtatiously. But you could hear the different layers in my voice. Pain Frustration. Anger._ Hostility_.  
"Max..." Fang said in what could almost be mistaken as a warning voice. He took another step towards me.  
"Fang." I mocked, wondering if we were going to be doing this for awhile. I stepped towards him in a sure of myself manner. We were nose-to-nose now.  
"You never did love me," he stated, lifting his hand to grip my arm.  
"I always loved you. I still do." I could now hear the pain and rage in his quiet voice. I was so caught up in trying to decipher his tone and words that I barley noticed Fang's nails digging into my upper arm.  
"Really. That means you never understood," I lifted my hand to his cheek. He didn't flinch like I had expected. He sort of leaned into my touch like it was completely normal. He wasn't lying then.  
"That means you never knew me well enough to know, " I watched, transfixed, by the blood running down his cheek and down my hand and dripped off of my elbow.  
"I still love you. Never stopped," I said like it was simple, when really, it was the most complicated thing I could've said.  
He pulled back some from my nails digging into his cheek, but it was a half hearted attempt. My hand wasn't going anywhere. We paused and stared in unison at the growing puddle of dark red liquid forming on the crisp white tiles. I realized that it wasn't just Fang's blood. It was both of ours mixing together. He narrowed his eyes at me before leaning in and kissing me. I wouldn't call it an attack because I responded with just as much enthusiasm. He locked one hand around my waist and he dislocated the one hand from my arm and gripped my scalp with it. I felt a cold determination. I pulled my hand away from his cheek and pulled on the roots of his hair with it. The other one was caught between my chest and his.  
I pulled away roughly when I felt a sharp pain run across my lip.  
"I suppose you're not going to forget the reason they called me Fang."  
I shook my head. He stared at my lip, at the blood running down my chin.  
"No, I haven't." I said, reaching into my back pocket. I lifted the opposite hand up to Fang's non-mangled cheek, but not to tear up the skin this time. I brought my hand down, just hard enough to leave faint scratch marks before I dropped it and focused on the contents in my back pockets again.  
"I guess I never could, either." My voice was thick. I was losing it. I reached further into my pocket. I could so easily feel the edge of the blade. Smooth, cool, and sleek. The perfect murder weapon.  
"Fang," I said with an urgent undertone," I love you." And as plain as that was I jammed my blade all the way into Fang's chest.  
"I hate you Max." Fang said, but didn't try to fight me, or the blade that was completely lodged into his heart.  
I nodded at him. I knew he meant every syllable of it, but he also loved me more than I could ever love him. Fang's legs seemed to give out as his breathing became more shallow. He collapsed into the puddle of blood. I stared at Fang, his clothes that were soaking up the liquid on the floor. When I looked back at Fang his chest wasn't moving any longer. I dropped to my knees, no longer feeling the difference between blood and tears. I numbly reached into Fang's pocket and pulled out the blade that was so similar to my own.  
It was my blade. The one meant for me. Meant to do the same thing to me Fang's blade did to him. I just beat him to the punch.  
I gripped the clean, sleek, sharp offender- enough to cut through the muscle in my hand right down to the bone.  
I didn't feel it though. I would be surprised if I felt anything anymore.  
I stood up and turned around.  
I just didn't feel anything anymore.  
I looked behind me one last time at the body.  
I stared at it.  
Nothing.  
My work here was done.

END.


End file.
